UC-NRLF 
 
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 I SALOMYJANE 
 
 I S^BRET HARTE 
 
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GIFT OF 
 
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SALOMY JANE 
 
 BY 
 
 BRET HARTE 
 
 L 
 
 W 
 
 s^J 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 HARRISON FISHER AND 
 
 ARTHUR I. KELLER 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 luiuTsiCit pii-ss Camlm&gr 
 
 ^ 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY BRET HARTE 
 
 COPYRIGHT, IQOO, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published October iqio 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I A KlSS AND AN ESCAPE I 
 
 II THE LADY S REFLECTIONS 19 
 
 III THE Kiss REPEATED 35 
 
 IV ANOTHER ESCAPE 59 
 
 260320 
 
ONLY one shot had been fired. It 
 had gone wide of its mark, the ring 
 leader of the Vigilantes, and had left 
 Red Pete, who had fired it, covered by 
 their rifles and at their mercy. For his 
 hand had been cramped by hard rid 
 ing, and his eye distracted by their sud 
 den onset, and so the inevitable end 
 had come. He submitted sullenly to 
 his captors ; his companion fugitive and 
 horse-thief gave up the protracted 
 struggle with a feeling not unlike re 
 lief. Even the hot and revengeful vict 
 ors were content. They had taken their 
 men alive. At any time during the long 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 chase they could have brought them 
 down by a rifle-shot, but it would have 
 been unsportsmanlike, and have ended 
 in a free fight, instead of an example. 
 And, for the matter of that, their doom 
 was already sealed. Their end, by a rope 
 and a tree, although not sanctified by 
 law, would have at least the delibera 
 tion of justice. It was the tribute paid 
 by the Vigilantes to that order which 
 they had themselves disregarded in the 
 pursuit and capture. Yet this strange 
 logic of the frontier sufficed them, and 
 gave a certain dignity to the climax. 
 
 " Ef you J ve got anything to say to 
 your folks, say it now, and say it 
 quick," said the ringleader. 
 
 Red Pete glanced around him. He 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 had been run to earth at his own cabin 
 in the clearing, whence a few relations 
 and friends, mostly women and chil 
 dren, non-combatants, had outflowed, 
 gazing vacantly at the twenty Vigi 
 lantes who surrounded them. All were 
 accustomed to scenes of violence, blood- 
 feud, chase, and hardship; it was only 
 the suddenness of the onset and its 
 quick result that had surprised them. 
 They looked on with dazed curiosity 
 and some disappointment; there had 
 been no fight to speak of no spec 
 tacle! A boy, nephew of Red Pete, got 
 upon the rain-barrel to view the pro 
 ceedings more comfortably; a tall, 
 handsome, lazy Kentucky girl, a visit 
 ing neighbor, leaned against the door- 
 
 
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SALOMY JANE 
 
 post, chewing gum. Only a yellow 
 hound was actively perplexed. He 
 could not make out if a hunt were just 
 over or beginning, and ran eagerly 
 backwards and forwards, leaping alter 
 nately upon the captives and the cap 
 tors. 
 
 The ringleader repeated his chal 
 lenge. Red Pete gave a reckless laugh 
 and looked at his wife. 
 
 At which Mrs. Red Pete came for 
 ward. It seemed that she had much to 
 say, incoherently, furiously, vindic 
 tively, to the ringleader. His soul 
 would roast in hell for that day s work! 
 He called himself a man, skunkin in 
 the open and afraid to show himself 
 except with a crowd of other " Kiyi s " 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 around a house of women and children. 
 Heaping insult upon insult, inveighing 
 against his low blood, his ancestors, his 
 dubious origin, she at last flung out a 
 wild taunt of his invalid wife, the insult 
 of a woman to a woman, until his white 
 face grew rigid, and only that Western- 
 American fetich of the sanctity of sex 
 kept his twitching fingers from the 
 lock of his rifle. Even her husband no 
 ticed it, and with a half-authoritative 
 " Let up on that, old gal," and a pat of 
 his freed left hand on her back, took 
 his last parting. The ringleader, still 
 white under the lash of the woman s 
 tongue, turned abruptly to the second 
 captive. " And if you Ve got anybody to 
 say <good-by to, now s your chance." 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 The man looked up. Nobody stirred 
 or spoke. He was a stranger there, 
 being a chance confederate picked up 
 by Red Pete, and known to no one. Still 
 young, but an outlaw from his aban 
 doned boyhood, of which father and 
 mother were only a forgotten dream, 
 he loved horses and stole them, fully 
 accepting the frontier penalty of life for 
 the interference with that animal on 
 which a man s life so often depended. 
 But he understood the good points of a 
 horse, as was shown by the one he be 
 strode until a few days before the 
 property of Judge Boompointer. This 
 was his sole distinction. 
 
 The unexpected question stirred 
 him for a moment out of the attitude 
 
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SALOMY JANE 
 
 of reckless indifference, for attitude it 
 was, and a part of his profession. But 
 it may have touched him that at that 
 moment he was less than his compan 
 ion and his virago wife. However, he 
 only shook his head. As he did so his 
 eye casually fell on the handsome girl 
 by the doorpost, who was looking at 
 him. The ringleader, too, may have 
 been touched by his complete loneli 
 ness, for he hesitated. At the same 
 moment he saw that the girl was look 
 ing at his friendless captive. 
 
 A grotesque idea struck him. 
 
 "Salomy Jane, ye might do worse 
 than come yere and say good-by to a 
 dying man, and him a stranger," he 
 said. 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 There seemed to be a subtle stroke 
 of poetry and irony in this that equally 
 struck the apathetic crowd. It was 
 well known that Salomy Jane Clay 
 thought no small potatoes of herself, 
 and always held off the local swain 
 with a lazy nymph-like scorn. Never 
 theless, she slowly disengaged herself 
 from the doorpost, and, to everybody s 
 astonishment, lounged with languid 
 grace and outstretched hand towards 
 the prisoner. The color came into the 
 gray reckless mask which the doomed 
 man wore as her right hand grasped 
 his left, just loosed by his captors. 
 Then she paused; her shy, fawn-like 
 eyes grew bold, and fixed themselves 
 upon him. She took the chewing-gum 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 from her mouth, wiped her red lips 
 with the back of her hand, by a sudden 
 lithe spring placed her foot on his stir 
 rup, and, bounding to the saddle, 
 threw her arms about his neck and 
 pressed a kiss upon his lips. 
 
 They remained thus for a hushed 
 moment the man on the threshold 
 of death, the young woman in the full 
 ness of youth and beauty linked to 
 gether. Then the crowd laughed; in 
 the audacious effrontery of the girl s 
 act the ultimate fate of the two men 
 was forgotten. She slipped languidly 
 to the ground ; she was the focus of all 
 eyes, she only! The ringleader saw 
 it and his opportunity. He shouted: 
 " Time s up Forward ! " urged his 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 horse beside his captives, and the next 
 moment the whole cavalcade was 
 sweeping over the clearing into the 
 darkening woods. 
 
 Their destination was Sawyer s 
 Crossing, the headquarters of the com 
 mittee, where the council was still sit 
 ting, and where both culprits were to 
 expiate the offense of which that coun 
 cil had already found them guilty. 
 They rode in great and breathless 
 haste, a haste in which, strangely 
 enough, even the captives seemed to 
 join. That haste possibly prevented 
 them from noticing the singular change 
 which had taken place in the second 
 captive since the episode of the kiss. 
 His high color remained, as if it had 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 burned through his mask of indiffer 
 ence; his eyes were quick, alert, and 
 keen, his mouth half open as if the girl s 
 kiss still lingered there. And that haste 
 had made them careless, for the horse 
 of the man who led him slipped in a 
 gopher-hole, rolled over, unseated his 
 rider, and even dragged the bound and 
 helpless second captive from Judge 
 Boompointer s favorite mare. In an in 
 stant they were all on their feet again, 
 but in that supreme moment the 
 second captive felt the cords which 
 bound his arms had slipped to his 
 wrists. By keeping his elbows to his 
 sides, and obliging the others to help 
 him mount, it escaped their notice. By 
 riding close to his captors, and keeping 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 in the crush of the throng, he further 
 concealed the accident, slowly working 
 his hands downwards out of his bonds. 
 Their way lay through a sylvan wil 
 derness, mid-leg deep in ferns, whose 
 tall fronds brushed their horses sides 
 in their furious gallop and concealed 
 the flapping of the captive s loosened 
 cords. The peaceful vista, more sug 
 gestive of the offerings of nymph and 
 shepherd than of human sacrifice, was 
 in a strange contrast to this whirlwind 
 rush of stern, armed men. The wester 
 ing sun pierced the subdued light and 
 the tremor of leaves with yellow lances ; 
 birds started into song on blue and 
 dove-like wings, and on either side of 
 the trail of this vengeful storm could be 
 
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SALOMY JANE 
 
 heard the murmur of hidden and tran 
 quil waters. In a few moments they 
 would be on the open ridge, whence 
 sloped the common turnpike to " Saw 
 yer s/ a mile away. It was the custom 
 of returning cavalcades to take this hill 
 at headlong speed, with shouts and 
 cries that heralded their coming. They 
 withheld the latter that day, as incon 
 sistent with their dignity ; but, emerg 
 ing from the wood, swept silently like 
 an avalanche down the slope. They 
 were well under way, looking only to 
 their horses, when the second captive 
 slipped his right arm from the bonds 
 and succeeded in grasping the reins 
 that lay trailing on the horse s neck. A 
 sudden vaquero jerk, which the well- 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 trained animal understood, threw him 
 on his haunches with his forelegs 
 firmly planted on the slope. The rest 
 of the cavalcade swept on; the man 
 who was leading the captive s horse by 
 the riata, thinking only of another acci 
 dent, dropped the line to save himself 
 from being dragged backwards from 
 his horse. The captive wheeled, and 
 the next moment was galloping furi 
 ously up the slope. 
 
 It was the work of a moment; a 
 trained horse and an experienced hand. 
 The cavalcade had covered nearly fifty 
 yards before they could pull up; the 
 freed captive had covered half that 
 distance uphill. The road was so nar 
 row that only two shots could be fired, 
 
 16 
 
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SALOMY JANE 
 
 and these broke dust two yards ahead 
 of the fugitive. They had not dared 
 to fire low ; the horse was the more val 
 uable animal. The fugitive knew this 
 in his extremity also, and would have 
 gladly taken a shot in his own leg to 
 spare that of his horse. Five men were 
 detached to recapture or kill him. The 
 latter seemed inevitable. But he had 
 calculated his chances; before they 
 could reload he had reached the woods 
 again; winding in and out between 
 the pillared tree trunks, he offered no 
 mark. They knew his horse was superior 
 to their own ; at the end of two hours 
 they returned, for he had disappeared 
 without track or trail. The end was 
 briefly told in the " Sierra Record: " 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 "Red Pete, the notorious horse- 
 thief, who had so long eluded justice, 
 was captured and hung by the Saw 
 yer s Crossing Vigilantes last week; 
 his confederate, unfortunately, es 
 caped on a valuable horse belonging to 
 Judge Boompointer. The judge had 
 refused one thousand dollars for the 
 horse only a week before. As the thief, 
 who is still at large, would find it diffi 
 cult to dispose of so valuable an animal 
 without detection, the chances are 
 against either of them turning up 
 again." 
 
II 
 
 SALOMY JANE watched the cavalcade 
 until it had disappeared. Then she be 
 came aware that her brief popularity 
 had passed. Mrs. Red Pete, in stormy 
 hysterics, had included her in a sweep 
 ing denunciation of the whole uni 
 verse, possibly for simulating an emo 
 tion in which she herself was deficient. 
 The other women hated her for her 
 momentary exaltation above them; 
 only the children still admired her as 
 one who had undoubtedly "canoo 
 dled" with a man " a-going to be 
 hung" a daring flight beyond their 
 wildest ambition. Salomy Jane ac- 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 cepted the change with charming un 
 concern. She put on her yellow nan 
 keen sunbonnet, a hideous affair 
 that would have ruined any other wo 
 man, but which only enhanced the 
 piquancy of her fresh brunette skin, 
 tied the strings, letting the blue-black 
 braids escape below its frilled curtain 
 behind, jumped on her mustang with a 
 casual display of agile ankles in shapely 
 white stockings, whistled to the hound, 
 and waving her hand with a " So long, 
 sonny! " to the lately bereft but admir 
 ing nephew, flapped and fluttered 
 away in her short brown holland 
 gown. 
 
 Her father s house was four miles 
 distant. Contrasted with the cabin she 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 had just quitted, it was a superior 
 dwelling, with a long "lean-to" at the 
 rear, which brought the eaves almost 
 to the ground and made it look like a 
 low triangle. It had a long barn and 
 cattle sheds, for Madison Clay was a 
 "great" stockraiser and the owner of a 
 "quarter section." It had a sitting- 
 room and a parlor organ, whose trans 
 portation thither had been a marvel of 
 "packing." These things were sup 
 posed to give Salomy Jane an undue 
 importance, but the girl s reserve and 
 inaccessibility to local advances were 
 rather the result of a cool, lazy tem 
 perament and the preoccupation of a 
 large, protecting admiration for her 
 father, for some years a widower. For 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 Mr. Madison Clay s life had been 
 threatened in one or two feuds, it 
 was said, not without cause, and it 
 is possible that the pathetic spectacle 
 of her father doing his visiting with a 
 shotgun may have touched her closely 
 and somewhat prejudiced her against 
 the neighboring masculinity. The 
 thought that cattle, horses, and "quar 
 ter section" would one day be hers 
 did not disturb her calm. As for Mr. 
 Clay, he accepted her as housewifely, 
 though somewhat " interfering," and, 
 being one of "his own womankind," 
 therefore not without some degree of 
 merit. 
 
 " Wot s this yer I m hearin of your 
 doin s over at Red Pete s? Honey- 
 
 Win 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 foglin with a horse-thief, eh?" said 
 Mr. Clay two days later at breakfast. 
 
 " I reckon you heard about the 
 straight thing, then," said Salomy 
 Jane unconcernedly, without looking 
 round. 
 
 "What do you kalkilate Rube will 
 say to it ? What are you goin to tell 
 him ? " said Mr. Clay sarcastically. 
 
 " Rube," or Reuben Waters, was a 
 swain supposed to be favored particu 
 larly by Mr. Clay. Salomy Jane 
 looked up. 
 
 "I ll tell him that when he s on his 
 way to be hung, I 11 kiss him, not 
 till then," said the young lady brightly. 
 
 This delightful witticism suited the 
 paternal humor, and Mr. Clay smiled ; 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 but, nevertheless, he frowned a mo 
 ment afterwards. 
 
 "But this yer hoss-thief got away 
 arter all, and that s a hoss of a different 
 color," he said grimly. 
 
 Salomy Jane put down her knife and 
 fork. This was certainly a new and 
 different phase of the situation. She 
 had never thought of it before, and, 
 strangely enough, for the first time she 
 became interested in the man. "Got 
 away?" she repeated. "Did they let 
 him off?" 
 
 " Not much," said her father briefly. 
 "Slipped his cords, and going down 
 the grade pulled up short, just like a 
 vaquero agin a lassoed bull, almost 
 draggin the man leadin him off his 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 boss, and then sky u ted up the grade. 
 For that matter, on that hoss o Judge 
 Boompointer s he mout have dragged 
 the whole posse of em down on their 
 knees ef he liked ! Sarved em right, 
 too. Instead of stringin him up afore 
 the door, or shootin him on sight, 
 they must allow to take him down 
 afore the hull committee * for an exam 
 ple. Example be blowed! Ther"s 
 example enough when some stranger 
 comes unbeknownst slap onter a man 
 hanged to a tree and plugged full of 
 holes. That s an example, and he 
 knows what it means. Wot more do ye 
 want? But then those Vigilantes is 
 allus clingin and hangin onter some 
 mere scrap o the law they re pretendin 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 to despise. It makes me sick! Why, 
 when Jake Myers shot your ole Aunt 
 Viney s second husband, and I laid in 
 wait for Jake afterwards in the Butter 
 nut Hollow, did / tie him to his hoss 
 and fetch him down to your Aunt 
 Viney s cabin for an example before 
 I plugged him ? No!" in deep disgust. 
 "No ! Why, I just meandered through 
 the wood, careless-like, till he comes out, 
 and I just rode up to him, and I said " 
 But Salomy Jane had heard her fa 
 ther s story before. Even one s dearest 
 relatives are apt to become tiresome in 
 narration. "I know, dad," she inter 
 rupted; "but this yer man, this 
 hoss-thief, did he get clean away 
 without gettin hurt at all ?" 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 "He did, and unless he s fool enough 
 to sell the hoss he kin keep away, too. 
 So ye see, ye can t ladle out purp stuff 
 about a dyin stranger to Rube. He 
 won t swaller it." 
 
 "All the same, dad," returned the 
 girl cheerfully, "I reckon to say it, and 
 say more; I 11 tell him that ef he man 
 ages to get away too, I 11 marry him 
 there ! But ye don t ketch Rube takin 
 any such risks in gettin ketched, or in 
 gettin away arter!" 
 
 Madison Clay smiled grimly, pushed 
 back his chair, rose, dropped a per 
 functory kiss on his daughter s hair, 
 and, taking his shot-gun from the 
 corner, departed on a peaceful Samari 
 tan mission to a cow who had dropped 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 a calf in the far pasture. Inclined as he 
 was to Reuben s wooing from his eli 
 gibility as to property, he was conscious 
 that he was sadly deficient in certain 
 qualities inherent in the Clay family. 
 It certainly would be a kind of mesal 
 liance. 
 
 Left to herself, Salomy Jane stared a 
 long while at the coffee-pot, and then 
 called the two squaws who assisted her 
 in her household duties, to clear away 
 the things while she went up to her 
 own room to make her bed. Here she 
 was confronted with a possible prospect 
 of that proverbial bed she might be 
 making in her willfulness, and on 
 which she must lie, in the photograph 
 of a somewhat serious young man 
 
 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 of refined features Reuben Waters 
 stuck in her window-frame. Salomy 
 Jane smiled over her last witticism re 
 garding him and enjoyed it, like your 
 true humorist, and then, catching sight 
 of her own handsome face in the little 
 mirror, smiled again. But was n t it 
 funny about that horse-thief getting 
 off after all ? Good Lordy ! Fancy 
 Reuben hearing he was alive and going 
 round with that kiss of hers set on his 
 lips ! She laughed again, a little more 
 abstractedly. And he had returned it 
 like a man, holding her tight and almost 
 breathless, and he going to be hung the 
 next minute! Salomy Jane had been 
 kissed at other times, by force, chance, 
 or stratagem. In a certain ingenuous 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
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 forfeit game of the locality known as 
 "I m a-pinin ," many had "pined" 
 for a "sweet kiss" from Salomy Jane, 
 which she had yielded in a sense of 
 honor and fair play. She had never 
 been kissed like this before she 
 would never again; and yet the man 
 was alive! And behold, she could see 
 in the mirror that she was blushing! 
 
 She should hardly know him again. 
 A young man with very bright eyes, a 
 flushed and sunburnt cheek, a kind of 
 fixed look in the face, and no beard ; no, 
 none that she could feel. Yet he was 
 not at all like Reuben, not a bit. She 
 took Reuben s picture from the win 
 dow, and laid it on her work-box. And 
 to think she did not even know this 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 young man s name! That was queer. 
 To be kissed by a man whom she 
 might never know! Of course he 
 knew hers. She wondered if he re 
 membered it and her. But of course 
 he was so glad to get off with his life 
 that he never thought of anything else. 
 Yet she did not give more than four or 
 five minutes to these speculations, and, 
 like a sensible girl, thought of some 
 thing else. Once again, however, in 
 opening the closet, she found the 
 brown holland gown she had worn on 
 the day before; thought it very unbe 
 coming, and regretted that she had not 
 worn her best gown on her visit to Red 
 Pete s cottage. On such an occasion she 
 really might have been more impressive. 
 
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 C Jl A\\~~te 
 
 Ill 
 
 WHEN her father came home that 
 night she asked him the news. No, 
 they had not captured the second 
 horse-thief, who was still at large. 
 Judge Boompointer talked of invoking 
 the aid of the despised law. It re 
 mained, then, to see whether the horse- 
 thief was fool enough to try to get rid of 
 the animal. Red Pete s body had been 
 delivered to his widow. Perhaps it 
 would only be neighborly forSalomy 
 Jane to ride over to the funeral. But 
 Salomy Jane did not take to the sug 
 gestion kindly, nor yet did she explain 
 to her father that, as the other man 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 was still living, she did not care to un 
 dergo a second disciplining at the 
 widow s hands. Nevertheless, she con 
 trasted her situation with that of the 
 widow with a new and singular satis 
 faction. It might have been Red Pete 
 who had escaped. But he had not the 
 grit of the nameless one. She had al 
 ready settled his heroic quality. 
 
 "Ye ain t harkenin to me, Salomy." 
 
 Salomy Jane started. 
 
 "Here I m askin ye if ye ve see that 
 hound Phil Larrabee sneaking by yer 
 to-day?" 
 
 Salomy Jane had not. But she be 
 came interested and self-reproachful, 
 for she knew that Phil Larrabee was 
 one of her father s enemies. "He 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 would n t dare to go by here unless he 
 knew you were out," she said quickly. 
 "That s what gets me," he said, 
 scratching his grizzled head. "I Ve 
 been kind o thinkin o him all day, 
 and one of them Chinamen said he saw 
 him at Sawyer s Crossing. He was a 
 kind of friend o Pete s wife. That s 
 why I thought yer might find out ef 
 he d been there." Salomy Jane grew 
 more self-reproachful at her father s 
 self-interest in her "neighborliness." 
 "But that ain t all," continued Mr. 
 Clay. "Thar was tracks over the far 
 pasture that warn t mine. I followed 
 them, and they went round and round 
 the house two or three times, ez ef they 
 mout hev bin prowlin , and then I lost 
 
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35 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 em in the woods again. It s just like 
 that sneakin hound Larrabee to hev 
 bin lyin in wait for me and afraid to 
 meet a man fair and square in the 
 open." 
 
 "You just lie low, dad, for a day or 
 two more, and let me do a little 
 prowlin ," said the girl, with sympa 
 thetic indignation in her dark eyes. 
 " Ef it s that skunk, I 11 spot him soon 
 enough and let you know whar he s 
 hiding." 
 
 "You ll just stay where ye are, 
 Salomy," said her father decisively. 
 "This ain t no woman s work 
 though I ain t sayin you have n t got 
 more head for it than some men I 
 know." 
 
LX// v\\\~Z. 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 Nevertheless, that night, after her 
 father had gone to bed, Salomy Jane 
 sat by the open window of the sitting- 
 room in an apparent attitude of languid 
 contemplation, but alert and intent of 
 eye and ear. It was a fine moonlit 
 night. Two pines near the door, soli 
 tary pickets of the serried ranks of dis 
 tant forest, cast long shadows like 
 paths to the cottage, and sighed their 
 spiced breath in the windows. For 
 there was no frivolity of vine or flower 
 round Salomy Jane s bower. The 
 clearing was too recent, the life too 
 practical for vanities like these. But 
 the moon added a vague elusiveness to 
 everything, softened the rigid outlines 
 of the sheds, gave shadows to the lidless 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 windows, and touched with merciful 
 indirectness the hideous debris of re 
 fuse gravel and the gaunt scars of 
 burnt vegetation before the door. 
 Even Salomy Jane was affected by it, 
 and exhaled something between a sigh 
 and a yawn with the breath of the 
 pines. Then she suddenly sat upright. 
 Her quick ear had caught a faint 
 "click, click," in the direction of the 
 wood; her quicker instinct and rustic 
 training enabled her to determine that 
 it was the ring of a horse s shoe on 
 flinty ground ; her knowledge of the lo 
 cality told her it came from the spot 
 where the trail passed over an outcrop 
 of flint scarcely a quarter of a mile 
 from where she sat, and within the 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 clearing. It was no errant "stock," for 
 the foot was shod with iron; it was 
 a mounted trespasser by night, and 
 boded no good to a man like Clay. 
 
 She rose, threw her shawl over her 
 head, more for disguise than shelter, 
 and passed out of the door. A sudden 
 impulse made her seize her father s 
 shotgun from the corner where it 
 stood, not that she feared any dan 
 ger to herself, but that it was an ex 
 cuse. She made directly for the wood, 
 keeping in the shadow of the pines as 
 long as she could. At the fringe she 
 halted; whoever was there must pass 
 her before reaching the house. 
 
 Then there seemed to be a suspense 
 of all nature. Everything was deadly 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 still even the moonbeams appeared 
 no longer tremulous ; soon there was a 
 rustle as of some stealthy animal 
 among the ferns, and then a dis 
 mounted man stepped into the moon 
 light. It was the horse-thief the 
 man she had kissed! 
 
 For a wild moment a strange fancy 
 seized her usually sane intellect and 
 stirred her temperate blood. The 
 news they had told her was not true ; 
 he had been hung, and this was his 
 ghost! He looked as white and spirit- 
 like in the moonlight, dressed in the 
 same clothes, as when she saw him 
 last. He had evidently seen her ap 
 proaching, and moved quickly to meet 
 her. But in his haste he stumbled 
 
 44 
 
 WtH 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 slightly; she reflected suddenly that 
 ghosts did not stumble, and a feeling 
 of relief came over her. And it was no 
 assassin of her father that had been 
 prowling around only this unhappy 
 fugitive. A momentary color came 
 into her cheek ; her coolness and hardi 
 hood returned ; it was with a tinge of 
 sauciness in her voice that she said : 
 "I reckoned you were a ghost." 
 " I mout have been," he said, looking 
 at her fixedly; "but I reckon I d have 
 come back here all the same." 
 
 "It s a little riskier comin back 
 alive," she said, with a levity that 
 died on her lips, for a singular ner 
 vousness, half fear and half expecta 
 tion, was beginning to take the place 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 of her relief of a moment ago. "Then 
 it was you who was prowlin round and 
 makin tracks in the far pasture?" 
 
 "Yes; I came straight here when I 
 got away." 
 
 She felt his eyes were burning her, 
 but did not dare to raise her own. 
 "Why," she began, hesitated, and 
 ended vaguely. "How did you get 
 here?" 
 
 "You helped me!" 
 
 "I?" 
 
 "Yes. That kiss you gave me put 
 life into me gave me strength to get 
 away. I swore to myself I d come 
 back and thank you, alive or dead." 
 
 Every word he said she could have 
 anticipated, so plain the situation 
 
w& 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 seemed to her now. And every word 
 he said she knew was the truth. Yet 
 her cool common sense struggled 
 against it. 
 
 "What s the use of your escaping, ef 
 you re comin back here to be ketched 
 again?" she said pertly. 
 
 He drew a little nearer to her, but 
 seemed to her the more awkward as 
 she resumed her self-possession. His 
 voice, too, was broken, as if by ex 
 haustion, as he said, catching his 
 breath at intervals : 
 
 "I ll tell you. You did more for me 
 than you think. You made another 
 man o me. I never had a man, wo 
 man, or child do to me what you did. 
 I never had a friend only a pal like 
 
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 4 
 
 ^>?^: 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 Red Pete, who picked me up on 
 shares. I want to quit this yer 
 what I m doin . I want to begin by 
 doin the square thing to you" He 
 stopped, breathed hard, and then said 
 brokenly, "My hoss is over thar, 
 staked out. I want to give him to you. 
 Judge Boompointer will give you a 
 thousand dollars for him. I ain t lyin ; 
 it s God s truth ! I saw it on the hand 
 bill agin a tree. Take him, and I ll 
 get away afoot. Take him. It s the 
 only thing I can do for you, and I 
 know it don t half pay for what you 
 did. Take it; your father can get a re 
 ward for you, if you can t." 
 
 Such were the ethics of this strange 
 locality that neither the man who 
 
 A 
 
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 ~s l{ \\\\~~Z. 
 
 bk. 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 made the offer nor the girl to whom it 
 was made was struck by anything that 
 seemed illogical or indelicate, or at all 
 inconsistent with justice or the horse- 
 thief s real conversion. Salomy Jane 
 nevertheless dissented, from another 
 and weaker reason. 
 
 "I don t want your hoss, though I 
 reckon dad might; but you re just 
 starvin . I ll get suthin ." She turned 
 towards the house. 
 
 "Say you ll take the hoss first," he 
 said, grasping her hand. At the touch 
 she felt herself coloring and struggled, 
 expecting perhaps another kiss. But 
 he dropped her hand. She turned 
 again with a saucy gesture, said, "Hoi* 
 on ; I 11 come right back," and slipped 
 
 ^> 
 
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 IK 
 
 
 tfW 
 
 49 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 away, the mere shadow of a coy and 
 flying nymph in the moonlight, until 
 she reached the house. 
 
 Here she not only procured food and 
 whiskey, but added a long dust-coat 
 and hat of her father s to her burden. 
 They would serve as a disguise for him 
 and hide that heroic figure, which she 
 thought everybody must now know as 
 she did. Then she rejoined him 
 breathlessly. But he put the food and 
 whiskey aside. 
 
 "Listen," he said; "I Ve turned the 
 hoss into your corral. You 11 find him 
 there in the morning, and no one will 
 know but that he got lost and joined 
 the other bosses." 
 
 Then she burst out. "But you 
 
 r ^ 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 you what will become of you ? 
 You llbeketched!" 
 
 "I 11 manage to get away," he said 
 in a low voice, "ef ef " 
 
 "Ef what?" she said tremblingly. 
 
 "Ef you ll put the heart in me 
 again, as you did!" he gasped. 
 
 She tried to laugh to move away. 
 She could do neither. Suddenly he 
 caught her in his arms, with a long 
 kiss, which she returned again and 
 again. Then they stood embraced as 
 they had embraced two days before, 
 but no longer the same. For the cool, 
 lazy Salomy Jane had been trans 
 formed into another woman a pas 
 sionate, clinging savage. Perhaps 
 something of her father s blood had 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 surged within her at that supreme mo 
 ment. The man stood erect and deter 
 mined. 
 
 "Wot s your name?" she whis 
 pered quickly. It was a woman s 
 quickest way of defining her feelings. 
 
 "Dart." 
 
 "Yer first name?" 
 
 "Jack." 
 
 "Let me go now, Jack. Lie low in 
 the woods till to-morrow sunup. I 11 
 come again." 
 
 He released her. Yet she lingered a 
 moment. "Put on those things," she 
 said, with a sudden happy flash of eyes 
 and teeth, "and lie close till I come." 
 And then she sped away home. 
 
 But midway up the distance she felt 
 
S^r* </^ 
 
 ZJl ^<~s= 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 her feet going slower, and something 
 at her heartstrings seemed to be pulling 
 her back. She stopped, turned, and 
 glanced to where he had been standing. 
 Had she seen him then, she might have 
 returned. But he had disappeared. She 
 gave her first sigh, and then ran quickly 
 again. It must be nearly ten o clock! 
 It was not very long to morning ! 
 
 She was within a few steps of her 
 own door, when the sleeping woods 
 and silent air appeared to suddenly 
 awake with a sharp "crack!" 
 
 She stopped, paralyzed. Another 
 "crack!" followed, that echoed over 
 to the far corral. She recalled herself 
 instantly and dashed off wildly to the 
 woods again. 
 
 %, 
 
 /4H,. 
 
 ^Jh ,^ 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 As she ran she thought of one thing 
 only. He had been "dogged" by one 
 of his old pursuers and attacked. But 
 there were two shots, and he was un 
 armed. Suddenly she remembered that 
 she had left her father s gun standing 
 against the tree where they were talk 
 ing. Thank God ! she may again have 
 saved him. She ran to the tree ; the gun 
 was gone. She ran hither and thither, 
 dreading at every step to fall upon his 
 lifeless body. A new thought struck 
 her; she ran to the corral. The horse 
 was not there! He must have been 
 able to regain it, and escaped, after the 
 shots had been fired. She drew a long 
 breath of relief, but it was caught up 
 in an apprehension of alarm. Her fa- 
 
 54 
 
 p v^ 
 
 V 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 ther, awakened from his sleep by the 
 shots, was hurriedly approaching her. 
 
 "What s up now, Salomy Jane?" 
 he demanded excitedly. 
 
 "Nothin ," said the girl with an ef 
 fort. "Nothin , at least, that / can 
 find." She was usually truthful be 
 cause fearless, and a lie stuck in her 
 throat; but she was no longer fearless, 
 thinking of him. "I wasn t abed; so 
 I ran out as soon as I heard the shots 
 fired," she answered in return to his 
 curious gaze. 
 
 "And you ve hid my gun some 
 where where it can t be found," he 
 said reproachfully. "Ef it was that 
 sneak Larrabee, and he fired them 
 shots to lure me out, he might have 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 potted me, without a show, a dozen 
 times in the last five minutes." 
 
 She had not thought since of her fa 
 ther s enemy! It might indeed have 
 been he who had attacked Jack. But 
 she made a quick point of the sugges 
 tion. "Run in, dad, run in and find 
 the gun; you ve got no show out here 
 without it." She seized him by the 
 shoulders from behind, shielding him 
 from the woods, and hurried him, half 
 expostulating, half struggling, to the 
 house. 
 
 But there no gun was to be found. 
 It was strange ; it must have been mis 
 laid in some corner! Was he sure he 
 had not left it in the barn? But no 
 matter now. The danger was over; 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 the Larrabee trick had failed ; he must 
 go to bed now, and in the morning they 
 would make a search together. At the 
 same time she had inwardly resolved 
 to rise before him and make another 
 search of the wood, and perhaps 
 fearful joy as she recalled her promise! 
 find Jack alive and well, awaiting 
 her! 
 
Another Escape 
 
IV 
 
 SALOMY JANE slept little that night, 
 nor did her father. But towards morn 
 ing he fell into a tired man s slumber 
 until the sun was well up the horizon. 
 Far different was it with his daughter : 
 she lay with her face to the window, her 
 head half lifted to catch every sound, 
 from the creaking of the sun-warped 
 shingles above her head to the far-off 
 moan of the rising wind in the pine 
 trees. Sometimes she fell into a breath 
 less, half-ecstatic trance, living over 
 every moment of the stolen interview; 
 feeling the fugitive s arm still around 
 her, his kisses on her lips; hearing his 
 
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 &M2 
 
 ^v 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 whispered voice in her ears the birth 
 of her new life! This was followed 
 again by a period of agonizing dread 
 that he might even then be lying, 
 his life ebbing away, in the woods, with 
 her name on his lips, and she resting 
 here inactive, until she half started 
 from her bed to go to his succor. And 
 this went on until a pale opal glow 
 came into the sky, followed by a still 
 paler pink on the summit of the white 
 Sierras, when she rose and hurriedly 
 began to dress. Still so sanguine was 
 her hope of meeting him, that she lin 
 gered yet a moment to select the brown 
 holland skirt and yellow sunbonnet she 
 had worn when she first saw him. And 
 she had only seen him twice! Only 
 
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 I "It fl H 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 twice! It would be cruel, too cruel, not 
 to see him again! 
 
 She crept softly down the stairs, lis 
 tening to the long-drawn breathing of 
 her father in his bedroom, and then, by 
 the light of a guttering candle, scrawled 
 a note to him, begging him not to trust 
 himself out of the house until she re 
 turned from her search, and leaving 
 the note open on the table, swiftly ran 
 out into the growing day. 
 
 Three hours afterwards Mr. Madi 
 son Clay awoke to the sound of loud 
 knocking. At first this forced itself 
 upon his consciousness as his daugh 
 ter s regular morning summons, and 
 was responded to by a grunt of recog 
 nition and a nestling closer in the blan- 
 
 ,xx>^v< 
 
 W, 
 

 
 4*H 
 
 VN\\V 
 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 kets. Then he awoke with a start and 
 a muttered oath, remembering the 
 events of last night, and his intention 
 to get up early, and rolled out of bed. 
 Becoming aware by this time that the 
 knocking was at the outer door, and 
 hearing the shout of a familiar voice, 
 he hastily pulled on his boots, his jean 
 trousers, and fastening a single suspen 
 der over his shoulder as he clattered 
 downstairs, stood in the lower room. 
 The door was open, and waiting upon 
 the threshold was his kinsman, an old 
 ally in many a blood-feud Brecken- 
 ridge Clay! 
 
 "You are a cool one, Mad!" said 
 the latter in half-admiring indigna 
 tion. 
 
 fft\< 
 
 M 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 "What s up?" said the bewildered 
 Madison. 
 
 "Ton ought to be, and scootin out 
 o this," said Breckenridge grimly. 
 "It s all very well to know nothin ; 
 but here Phil Larrabee s friends hev 
 just picked him up, drilled through 
 with slugs and deader nor a crow, and 
 now they re lettin loose Larrabee s 
 two half-brothers on you. And you 
 must go like a derned fool and leave 
 these yer things behind you in the 
 bresh," he went on querulously, lifting 
 Madison Clay s dust-coat, hat, and 
 shotgun from his horse, which stood 
 saddled at the door. " Luckily I picked 
 them up in the woods comin here. Ye 
 ain t got more than time to get over the 
 
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 fi>ife\ 
 
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 SALOMY JANE 
 
 state line and among your folks thar 
 afore they ll be down on you. Hustle, 
 old man ! What are you gawkin and 
 starin at?" 
 
 Madison Clay had stared amazed 
 and bewildered horror-stricken. The 
 incidents of the past night for the first 
 time flashed upon him clearly hope 
 lessly! The shot; his finding Salomy 
 Jane alone in the woods ; her confusion 
 and anxiety to rid herself of him ; the 
 disappearance of the shotgun ; and now 
 this new discovery of the taking of his 
 hat and coat for a disguise! She had 
 killed Phil Larrabee in that disguise, 
 after provoking his first harmless shot ! 
 She, his own child, Salomy Jane, had 
 disgraced herself by a man s crime ; had 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 disgraced him by usurping his right, 
 and taking a mean advantage, by de 
 ceit, of a foe ! 
 
 "Gimme that gun," he said hoarsely. 
 
 Breckenridge handed him the gun in 
 wonder and slowly gathering suspi 
 cion. Madison examined nipple and 
 muzzle; one barrel had been dis 
 charged. It was true! The gun 
 dropped from his hand. 
 
 "Look here, old man," said Breck 
 enridge, with a darkening face, " there s 
 bin no foul play here. Thar s bin no 
 hiring of men, no deputy to do this job. 
 ^owdid it fair and square yourself?" 
 
 "Yes, by God!" burst out Madison 
 Clay in a hoarse voice. "Who says I 
 didn t?" 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 Reassured, yet believing that Madi 
 son Clay had nerved himself for the act 
 by an over-draught of whiskey, which 
 had affected his memory, Breckenridge 
 said curtly, "Then wake up and lite 
 out, ef ye want me to stand by you." 
 
 "Go to the corral and pick me out a 
 hoss," said Madison slowly, yet not 
 without a certain dignity of manner. 
 "I ve suthin to say to Salomy Jane 
 afore I go." He was holding her scrib 
 bled note, which he had just discovered, 
 in his shaking hand. 
 
 Struck by his kinsman s manner, and 
 knowing the dependent relations of 
 father and daughter, Breckenridge nod 
 ded and hurried away. Left to him 
 self, Madison Clay ran his fingers 
 
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 ?#?&*==: 
 
 sj AV te 
 
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 t-?i 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 through his hair, and straightened out 
 the paper on which Salomy Jane had 
 scrawled her note, turned it over, and 
 wrote on the back : 
 
 You might have told me you did it, 
 and not leave your ole father to find it 
 out how you disgraced yourself and 
 him, too, by a low-down, under 
 handed, woman s trick ! I ve said I 
 done it, and took the blame myself, and 
 all the sneakiness of it that folks sus 
 pect. If I get away alive and I 
 don t care much which you need n t 
 foller. The house and stock are yours ; 
 but you ain t any longer the daughter 
 of your disgraced father, 
 
 MADISON CLAY. 
 
 \m 
 
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 iA r *" 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 He had scarcely finished the note 
 when, with a clatter of hoofs and a led 
 horse, Breckenridge reappeared at the 
 door elate and triumphant. "You re 
 in nigger luck, Mad ! I found that stole 
 hoss of Judge Boompointer s had got 
 away and strayed among your stock in 
 the corral. Take him and you re safe ; 
 he can t be outrun this side of the state 
 line." 
 
 "I ain t no hoss-thief," said Madi 
 son grimly. 
 
 "Nobody sez ye are, but you d be 
 wuss a fool ef you did n t take 
 him. I m testimony that you found 
 him among your hosses ; I 11 tell Judge 
 Boompointer you ve got him, and ye 
 kin send him back when you re safe. 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 The judge will be mighty glad to get 
 him back, and call it quits. So ef 
 you ve writ to Salomy Jane, come." 
 
 Madison Clay no longer hesitated. 
 Salomy Jane might return at any mo 
 ment, it would be part of her "fool 
 womanishness," and he was in no 
 mood to see her before a third party. 
 He laid the note on the table, gave a 
 hurried glance around the house, 
 which he grimly believed he was leav 
 ing forever, and, striding to the door, 
 leaped on the stolen horse, and swept 
 away with his kinsman. 
 
 But that note lay for a week undis 
 turbed on the table in full view of the 
 open door. The house was invaded by 
 leaves, pine cones, birds, and squirrels 
 
 
 
 ^ Nl 
 
 :*y 
 
 fifctf 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 during the hot, silent, empty days, 
 and at night by shy, stealthy creatures, 
 but never again, day or night, by any 
 of the Clay family. It was known in 
 the district that Clay had flown across 
 the state line, his daughter was believed 
 to have joined him the next day, and 
 the house was supposed to be locked up. 
 It lay off the main road, and few 
 passed that way. The starving cattle 
 in the corral at last broke bounds and 
 spread over the woods. And one night 
 a stronger blast than usual swept 
 through the house, carried the note 
 from the table to the floor, where, 
 whirled into a crack in the flooring, it 
 slowly rotted. 
 
 But though the sting of her father s 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 reproach was spared her, Salomy Jane 
 had no need of the letter to know what 
 had happened. For as she entered the 
 woods in the dim light of that morning 
 she saw the figure of Dart gliding from 
 the shadow of a pine towards her. The 
 unaffected cry of joy that rose from 
 her lips died there as she caught sight 
 of his face in the open light. 
 
 "You are hurt," she said, clutching 
 his arm passionately. 
 
 "No," he said. "But I wouldn t 
 mind that if " 
 
 "You re thinkin I was afeard to 
 come back last night when I heard the 
 shootin , but I did come," she went on 
 feverishly. "I ran back here when I 
 heard the two shots, but you were 
 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 gone. I went to the corral, but your 
 hoss was n t there, and I thought you d 
 got away." 
 
 "I did get away," said Dart gloom 
 ily. "I killed the man, thinkin he was 
 huntin me, and forgettin I was dis 
 guised. He thought I was your father." 
 
 "Yes," said the girl joyfully, "he 
 was after dad, and you you killed 
 him." She again caught his hand ad 
 miringly. 
 
 But he did not respond. Possibly 
 there were points of honor which this 
 horse-thief felt vaguely with her father. 
 "Listen," he said grimly. "Others 
 think it was your father killed him. 
 When 7 did it for he fired at me 
 first I ran to the corral again and 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 took my boss, thinkin I might be fol- 
 lered. I made a clear circuit of the 
 house, and when I found he was the 
 only one, and no one was follerin , I 
 come back here and took off my dis 
 guise. Then I heard his friends find 
 him in the wood, and I know they sus 
 pected your father. And then another 
 man come through the woods while I 
 was hidin and found the clothes and 
 took them away." He stopped and 
 stared at her gloomily. 
 
 But all this was unintelligible to the 
 girl. "Dad would have got the better 
 of him ef you hadn t," she said eagerly, 
 "so what s the difference?" 
 
 "All the same," he said gloomily, 
 "I must take his place." 
 
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 fccfe: 
 
 ^?re*A? 
 
 al// VL 
 
 SALOMY JANE 
 
 She did not understand, but turned 
 her head to her master. "Then you ll 
 go back with me and tell him all ?" she 
 said obediently. 
 
 "Yes," he said. 
 
 She put her hand in his, and they 
 crept out of the wood together. She 
 foresaw a thousand difficulties, but, 
 chiefest of all, that he did not love as 
 she did. She would not have taken 
 these risks against their happiness. 
 
 But alas for ethics and heroism. As 
 they were issuing from the wood they 
 heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and 
 had barely time to hide themselves be 
 fore Madison Clay, on the stolen horse 
 of Judge Boompointer, swept past 
 them with his kinsman. 
 
 Wfo 
 
SALOMY JANE 
 
 Salomy Jane turned to her lover. 
 
 And here I might, as a moral ro 
 mancer, pause, leaving the guilty, pas 
 sionate girl eloped with her disreputable 
 lover, destined to lifelong shame and 
 misery, misunderstood to the last by a 
 criminal, fastidious parent. But I am 
 confronted by certain facts, on which 
 this romance is based. A month later 
 a handbill was posted on one of the 
 sentinel pines, announcing that the 
 property would be sold by auction to 
 the highest bidder by Mrs. John Dart, 
 daughter of Madison Clay, Esq., and 
 it was sold accordingly. Still later 
 by ten years the chronicler of these 
 pages visited a certain "stock" or 
 
 sw 
 
 77 
 

 SALOMY JANE 
 
 "breeding farm," in the "Blue Grass 
 Country," famous for the popular 
 racers it has produced. He was told 
 that the owner was the " best judge of 
 horse-flesh in the country." " Small 
 wonder," added his informant, "for 
 they say as a young man out in Cali 
 fornia he was a horse-thief, and only 
 saved himself by eloping with some 
 rich farmer s daughter. But he s a 
 straight-out and respectable man now, 
 whose word about horses can t be 
 bought; and as for his wife, she s a 
 beauty! To see her at the Springs, 
 rigged out in the latest fashion, you d 
 never think she had ever lived out of 
 New York or was n t the wife of one 
 of its millionaires." 
 
fcitoeitfibe 
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 U . S . A 
 

YC I 05368 
 
 260320